The King Hath Killed His Heart
by Davies
Summary: "Are you sure you want to throw that away?" An AU version of a certain conversation.


Sylia Stingray stepped out of the car, holding her purse carefully. She surveyed the trailer and the empty field where it resided without expression, and then headed for the steps leading up to its door. She circumvented the electronic lock on the door easily; not for nothing had she ensured that she had a 'backdoor' into all of her agents' homes - although she had hoped never to have to use them. Unfortunately, events had proven otherwise.

As Sylia silently opened the door, Priss stood in the middle of the trailer's 'living room' facing away from the door and staring at a poster on the wall. The poster depicted Priss in her stage costume, wearing a dangerous grin. With a sudden burst of furious movement, Priss tore the poster from the wall and crumpled it into a ball, then flung it behind her. It bounced along the floor, coming to rest in front of Sylia's shoe.

Priss had caught a glimpse of Sylia's presence when she turned to throw the poster. The leader of the Knight Sabres knelt down to pick up the crumpled picture, never taking her eyes from Priss' as she did. "Are you sure you should throw this away?" she asked. "It's the poster from your first live concert, isn't it?"

"Sylia," Priss muttered in a tone comprised of almost equal parts relief and resentment.

"There was no answer when I knocked, so I let myself in," Sylia explained to forestall the obvious question - and the less obvious one, 'How did you get *n here?' She walked towards Priss, unfolding the poster as she did, and held it out to her. "Here."

Instead of taking it, Priss whirled around to face away from Sylia. "I feel bad ..." she said haltingly, rubbing the seat of her cycle. "I really do feel bad about this, but I can't go on like this ..."

Towards the end of her 'apology', Priss had a hand over her face, and Sylia had the distinct impression that the younger woman was trying to hold back tears.

"What happened wasn't your fault, Priss," Sylia began smoothly.

A hand slammed down from Priss' face to the seat of the cycle. "Wrong! It was my fault! I let Sylvie die ... I wasn't strong enough ... I ... shit ..."

"Priss," Sylia murmured as she felt her stomach begin to sink. It wasn't going to be as easy as she'd hoped to talk her out of her decision to resign - _secede_, Sylia reminded herself - from the Knight Sabres. And if she couldn't persuade Priss to reconsider that decision ... then she was out of options.

She'd have to kill her.

* * *

"Romanova!"

Nene's hand snapped back to her side, pulling away from her terminal's keypad. She turned to look up at the source of the sudden cry - her new shift supervisor, a tyrannical woman who resembled Sylia in some ways.

"Yes ma'am?" Nene asked quickly.

"Were you or were you not about to make a personal phone call on company time?" the supervisor snarled. "I saw you keying in the code to make -"

"Yes ma'am, I was," Nene admitted. It was pointless to deny it, but she quickly improvised a dodge. "My boyfriend works in the building right beside the MegaTokyo bank, and I was -"

"I don't care why you were going to do it, Romanova. Just don't make personal calls during crisis situations. Are we clear?"

"Crystal clear ma'am," Nene agreed, nodding.

The supervisor stalked off to bully someone else, and a few more minutes passed before Nene felt secure enough to use the secret codes she'd developed for just such an emergency to contact Sylia.

She never knew how much those handful of minutes changed everything.

* * *

Sylia sighed once more, and slowly pulled the pistol from her purse. "I'm sorry, Priscilla. But I can't let you do that."

Priss stiffened at the sound of her full name, but didn't turn. Nor did she evince any reaction at the sound of the safety coming off.

Sylia set her jaw. "Priss, turn around."

"So that's how you're gonna play it, huh?" Priss muttered, not turning.

"You know the rules, Priss. I explained -"

"Yeah, stupid me to think that you might have changed them, joking around with Linna about her boyfriends." There was a faint echo of the old Priss in her sneer.

"This and that are different, Priss," Sylia replied. "I -"

"You. Fucking. Hypocrite."

"I don't _want_ to do this, Priss," she continued angrily. "But you're forcing my hand. I can't allow you to quit. You'd be picked up in half an hour by Genom security, and I can't afford that. Either stop this foolishness right now or -"

"Or what, Sylia?" Priss snarled, turning around to glare at her. "You'll shoot me? I never thought you'd be _that_ stupid. I don't _care _anymore! Come on, make my day!"

A quiet part of Sylia's mind insisted that if Priss wanted to die, she should oblige her. But it faded beneath her memories of the last time Sylia had seem the same desolation in those red eyes - the first time they'd met. She'd wanted to make her life better. She'd wanted to make the pain in those eyes go away, and now she had to put the light out of them. It didn't make any sense.

_I'm trembling_, Sylia realized suddenly. _I didn't tremble when I killed Mason. Why ... why am I -_

"Shit," Priss spat. "You don't even have the guts to do it, do you?" She reached out towards the gun. "Dammit, give me that -"

Reflexively, Sylia's finger tightened on the trigger. The shot resounded in the confines of the trailer.

Priss stood frozen for a moment. Then, quite rapidly, she collapsed to her knees. Her head dropped to look at the small hole just above her left breast, from which blood flowed freely. "Shit," she muttered. And then she fell down the rest of the way.

Sylia experienced a sudden irrational urge to call for an ambulance. If she did, Priss would live, but there would be questions. Many questions. The thought of the questions was not what stopped her. She simply could not move a muscle for a moment. And when she could, she dropped down to her knees, and rolled the body over to check for Priss' pulse.

As soon as she found it, it faded.

_She's gone,_ Sylia realized._ I did it. I killed her, father. Aren't you proud of me? I showed that I -_

The beeping of her phone pulled Sylia out of her fugue. With an unshaking hand, she drew it from her purse. "What?" she asked.

"Sylia!" Nene's voice squeaked. "Those fakes have just shown up on top of the MegaTokyo Bank - we've got to -"

"Very well," Sylia replied. "I will be there shortly."

"Sylia, are you all right?" Nene asked in a confused tone. "You sound fun-"

"Be ready," she replied vaguely, and cut the connection. She rose up, and realized to mild shock that she'd gotten blood all over her dress. _Have to change quickly, before I meet the others,_ she thought as she walked away from the dead thing on the floor, leaving the pistol in the cooling puddle of blood, along with the last object from her purse.

She had to say something, Sylia realized as she settled into her car seat. Nothing would ever be the same again. She couldn't greet the change with silence.

"Goodbye," she murmured, a moment before the timed thermal grenade went off, consuming the trailer in a ball of flame.

And then the car pulled away from the pyre of the future, and continued towards destiny.


End file.
